Scroll Fatigue and the Quest for Real-Life Likes
Remember when hanging out meant, well, hanging out—pizza boxes on the coffee table, someone’s dog stealing a slice, and nobody saying, “Wait, let me get a pic for the ’Gram”? Yeah, me too. A few months back, I’m at dinner when a buddy leans over his dumplings and thanks me—thanks me—for quitting Instagram. “I hit 5,000 followers,” he explains, “and then I saw someone else at 500-thousand. Suddenly my hobby felt like competitive downhill skiing in flip-flops. So I bailed.” Apparently we are a social-media Scared Straight program. Who knew? Here’s the truth: if you’re a suburban dad posting taco shots for sport, Instagram is optional. If you’re trying to rally investors, pitch projects, or spark a movement (hi, that’s me), social media is basically oxygen—only with more trolls. But let’s be honest: the apps can turn your brain into pixel mush. Jules Terpak, who studies digital culture, says all those “micro check-ins” trick us into thinking we’ve caught up with friends when, spoiler aler...